


Reciprocity

by thecarlysutra



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-21
Updated: 2005-11-21
Packaged: 2019-04-30 20:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: “Confucius,” he says,His voice startling in its balance of strengthAnd sensuality. “Was once asked to name one characterThat described all wisdom, all law.”





	Reciprocity

  
He has a grace  
Just a hair from human  
You could call him Angel or Ghost  
And either would fit.  
He has a mouth built for apologies,  
Or for prayer—  
Rounded down under the great weight  
Of “I’m so sorry,” or   
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

She knows in watching him  
In the anguished way he machinates,  
That he’s damaged by things  
She cannot understand.  
She wonders if it’s enough  
That she recognizes that   
She cannot understand.

“Confucius,” he says,  
His voice startling in its balance of strength  
And sensuality. “Was once asked to name one character  
That described all wisdom, all law.”

She crawls over to him. “I don’t understand that.”  
He knows what she means. He always knows.

“In Chinese script, they don’t have letters;  
Instead, they use pictures that mean a whole word.”

“Oh,” she says. “What did he say?”

He opens his hands with the word. “Reciprocity.”

“Why are you telling me this?” But she knows.   
They are a constant ebb and flow, a mirror reflection.  
He can’t stay away from her,  
And he just says the things  
She doesn’t know how to put into words.

“Love’s like that,” he says anyway.  
Even though  
He knows she knows.  
“Reciprocity. And it’s the least  
Law- and wisdom-governed thing  
That I can think of.”

She closes the distance between them,  
Lets her mouth fall against his  
Like an act of gravity.  
Easy. Muscle memory. All instinct.  
She feels at home here,  
And he’s not half bad either.

“You think too much,” she murmurs.  



End file.
